Steele in Love with You
by My Barbaric YAWP
Summary: After two years, INS comes looking for more than proof of marriage. This time they’re out for blood—Steele’s—and they’re not alone. He has a plan, causing Laura’s concern—and with good reason. He’s going to murder Remington Steele.


Steele in Love with You

When I began watching Remington Steele, I swore I would never write fanfiction for it. And then, of course, this happened. I hope you enjoy it :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Remington Steele, but I'd like to date him if Laura wasn't around…

* * *

"Morning, morning, morning." Remington Steele breezed through the office door with a wave to Mildred. He was halfway to his office door before a thought occurred. He retraced his steps to the reception desk and considered the empty seat before him. No Mildred. Intriguing. Not unheard of, but certainly rare enough to warrant a raised eyebrow.

He paced over to the door next to his office. Further inspection revealed more empty space. No Laura. The plot thickens. Actually, the absence of Mrs. Holt-Steele called for no action on the part of his eyebrows, but he furrowed them anyway, just for good measure. It was…annoying. Not intolerable, but nevertheless aggravating. She'd left the flat early that morning—no doubt getting an early start on a case, which was Laura all over, but still somewhat irritating given that today was their second anniversary. If he had his way, they'd be in some outrageously romantic getaway spot sipping ridiculous beverages with more umbrellas and fruit than alcohol. Of course, if he'd had his way, all those years ago, he'd probably be rotting on a beach with more alcohol than fruit in him. Or in jail on a beach. The thought made a persuasive argument for Laura's way, it really did…

His office door opened behind him and Mildred bustled out, clutching an empty coffee pot. "Oh Boss, thank God you're here."

"Oh I do, Mildred, I do. What's today's particular occasion?"

"A man from INS is waiting for you in your office. He wouldn't say what he wanted, but he doesn't exactly look like he's filling in for the Easter Bunny, if you know what I mean."

Steele felt his brow furrow, this time of its own accord. "Not entirely, no, but, given circumstances, I'm willing to spot you this one, Mildred."

"He drank all our coffee. Wouldn't say a word except 'fill 'er up.' I don't like the look of him, boss."

Steele pursed his lips slightly, feeling somewhat adrift in the conversation. "Yes, well, I've never been too fond of the idea of a seven foot rabbit myself. Even _Harvey_—"

Mildred cut in. "No time to go the movies, boss. He wants to see you. I don't think he wants to wait, not with that much caffeine."

"Right you are, Mildred. Business first, rabbits second." He headed for the office, but turned back at the door. "By the way, you wouldn't happen to know the whereabouts of my darling wife by any chance?"

"She was gone when I got in. She left a note." Mildred scurried to the desk and shuffled through the papers for a moment. "Here we are. 'Gone out. Big surprise. Back for lunch. Tell him Happy Anniversary and don't burn the agency down.'"

Steele sighed. "Her love and confidence are overwhelming."

He turned the doorknob and entered the office.

The man inside reminded him in no way of a rabbit. He had all the earmarks of other, less fluffy and cuddly rodentia, however. Beady eyes, twitchy nose, puffy cheeks, pointy ears. Well, the ears were an exaggeration, but the rest of him was downright repulsive.

Well, actually, he looked like any other paper pusher in any other bureaucratic agency around the world—a little dull, a little tubby, a little cross-eyed, but not inherently evil. Innately small minded, but not evil. That was unfair, too, but Steele had never been overly fond of government officials, particularly the INS bastards that seemed to have nothing better to do with their time then muck about in his private affairs. Or single affair, to be exact.

The man's eye twitched slightly, but Steele gave him the benefit of the doubt and chalked it up to Mildred's coffee in deference to his earlier injustice.

"Good morning, Mr.—"

"Kline, Stephen Kline," said the little man, standing up to shake his hand. "You must be Mr. Steele."

"Well, I've been operating under that assumption for some time now." He laughed at his own joke, but Kline met his eyes and held them with a knowledgeable glance that did not bode well for the following conversation. Easter Bunny indeed.

"Quite, Mr. Steele." There was an awkward silence while Steele let the pounding in his ears subside to a dull thud. That twitch was definitely a sign of evil.

"Well, have a seat then, Mr. Kline, and please tell me what I can do for the Immigration and Naturalization Service?"

* * *

Laura Holt-Steele marched into the office, a woman on a mission. "Messages, Mildred?"

"Hello, yourself."

Laura checked her stride and returned the desk with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Mildred. I wrapped up the Munger matter this morning—you know how that always puts me on an efficiency kick."

"Oh, I know. Bernice called, told me to tell you men are idiots and should be kicked off the planet."

"Saxophonist?"

"I think she's onto a cellist this time."

Laura nodded. "Anything else?"

"Francis called, wished you a Happy Anniversary. Margret Vonce called, wondering about her husband's assets. Herbert Weisman called, wants to know why his daughter hasn't called him since the case closed."

"Did you tell him that might have something to do with the fact he was cheating on her mother and murdered the family dog?"

"I thought that might be a matter for Mr. Steele to address."

"Brilliant deduction, Mildred."

"Thank you. Oh, and Detective Jarvis called, wants your input on a murder investigation."

Laura raised her eyebrows. "Really?"

"Said it was just the thing for Remington Steele—murder by movie quotes."

"Was he serious?"

"I couldn't tell. It'd have to be a pretty slow day for crime to waste time prank calling us."

"Interesting." Laura headed for her office phone, but Mildred wasn't finished.

"And an INS officer is in with the boss. He's been through two and a half pots of coffee."

Laura was already moving toward the door. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"I'm more worried about the boss."

Laura stepped into the office quietly, hoping to scope the lay of the land before jumping in. No such luck.

"Why Mrs. Holt-Steele. Just in time. Your husband and I were just getting around to you," said the little man before the desk, with nasty inflection on the word husband that was not immediately endearing.

Laura met her husband's eyes over the little man's head. Blank—totally devoid of emotion or sparkle. The situation must be extremely bleak for him to shut down like that.

"Good afternoon, Mr.—"

"Kline."

"Mr. Kline, yes. How lovely." She paced around the desk to place comforting hands on her husband's shoulders, kissing the top of his head for reassurance—his and her own. _Don't lose it on me now._ He stiffened under her touch, and then relaxed, pressing back slightly to acknowledge her support.

"How can we help you, Mr. Kline?"

"Oh, your husband's been most helpful. He's such a cooperative man. Must be a dream to live with—the perfect man. Couldn't be any better if you created him yourself."

Laura felt her heart stop for a moment. Tension rippled through the shoulders under her hands, and she squeezed them tight, more to steady herself than restrain him. She felt like throwing up. He patted her hand gently, touching her ring with his own.

She breathed carefully, with practiced calm. "Yes, it often seems so, doesn't it, darling? Of course then he won't put the socks in the hamper, and I refuse to take responsibility for that."

Mr. Kline met her eyes unblinkingly. "Quite."

Steele found his voice again, galvanized by Laura's new defense. "Yes, I'm a total slob. I don't think she quite counted on that, poor dear. Complete neat freak, my Laura. But love does make strange bedfellows."

Laura snorted, but then pinched his shoulder in chastisement. "I wouldn't put it quite that way, darling."

"No? I thought it most fitting."

Laura dug her thumbs into a particularly sensitive patch of knotted muscle, satisfied when he jumped slightly in his chair. "You would," she muttered.

"I love you too, sweetheart." He smiled at Kline, trying to ignore the pain. "Will there be anything else, Mr. Kline?"

Kline surveyed them critically before shaking his head. "No, that will be all for today. I'm sure you'll be hearing from my office soon, though."

He left, and Laura felt her whole body sag with relief.

Steele's breathing returned to normal. "Do you smell that?"

Laura took a deep breath. "What?"

"Brimstone. We've had a very narrow escape."

"For now," said Laura, her voice shaky.

"Indeed." He turned in his chair and caught her on his lap as her legs gave out. He kissed her forehead and held her close. "It's all right for now. We're safe for the time being."

Laura pressed her face into his neck and sighed. "But for how long?"

"A couple of days? I don't know. He seemed to know which buttons to press, but he couldn't have any proof, otherwise he would have done more than fish. They're probably waiting for the fraud squad to show up, too. There're going to be a lot of agencies interested in Remington Steele when this hits the fan."

"How did they find out? We've been so careful. Well, lately anyway. We've been on best behavior for two years—you said it would be over in two years." Her tone wasn't accusatory, merely confused.

"I said the marriage question would be resolved. The Remington Steele charade was always headed for disaster. I figured it out in twenty-four hours—the government was bound to catch up eventually."

"Just when life was starting to settle down. And on our anniversary! That slimy snake!" She sounded outraged and he couldn't blame her. He was feeling distinctly put out himself.

"He reminded me more of a rat, possibly a weasel. Something with beady eyes and yellow teeth."

She laughed shortly, but was soon up pacing. "What are we going to do? We can't just wait here for our whole world to come crumbling down."

He sighed and rubbed his eyes slowly. "I'm not sure we can fix this, Laura. I'm not sure we can keep the agency this time, not with me around, anyway."

Laura halted mid step and stumbled as her brain caught up with her body.

"All right?"

"Yes," she muttered, throwing herself sidewise into a chair. "I can believe this is what it's come down to, after all these years. You or the agency."

He nodded. "It boggles the mind."

She met his eyes and both stopped breathing for a moment.

"I can be on the next flight out." He tried to sound sincere, but they both knew it was an empty offer.

She laughed. "Don't be ridiculous. It's just I put so much time into both of you, it seems like such a waste. I love this agency, but we can't keep it going like this—it's time to change tact."

"You said you had a surprise?" he asked, trying to distract her to give him more time to think.

"What? Oh, yes." She was silent for a moment before taking a deep breath. "I bought a house."

That had his attention. "A house? You bought a house?"

"It was a surprise."

"An honest to God house? With a mortgage and a guest bedroom and everything?"

"And everything."

He raised an eyebrow; she raised two. "Well, it is a surprise."

"There's more."

"I don't know if I can take it."

"It's in Ireland."

He almost fell out of his chair. "You bought a house in Ireland? What for?"

"I don't know. I was doing property checks for a client and this house popped up."

"And you just had to have it?"

"And the previous owner was one Daniel Chalmers."

He tensed reflexively.

"That wasn't the only selling point. Three bedrooms, two baths, all the modern amenities—which is damn impressive in Ireland—proximity to Galway—you love Galway—and a sheep farm."

"A sheep farm. That's a selling point? You want a sheep farm?"

"It can't hurt."

"Are there sheep on the sheep farm?"

"I would imagine so."

"Can we sell them? Immediately?"

She laughed softly. "Yes, I suppose so."

"I can't believe Daniel owned a house."

"I can't believe I stumbled across it. I didn't know if you'd be interested, but I thought we should at least have a look. If you're not, we can always sell it again."

"No, I like the idea. I think it might come in handy."

"How so?"

"I have a plan."

"Why am I worried?"

"I'm going to kill Remington Steele."

* * *

Laura sat on her bed, watching her husband turn their bedroom upside down. He had suitcases scattered across the floor, clothes still on hangers strewn over every surface, and papers flying everywhere. "Run this by me one more time?"

"They want to nail Remington Steele to the wall, yes?"

"Yes."

"And they want Richard Blain in six countries not including Puerto Rico, right?"

"Yes…"

"Well, naturally, the great Remington Steele, bored with domestic life and office work, would be fascinated by the challenge offered by Richard Blain."

"What movie is this from?"

He stopped rummaging through his dresser drawer and turned to look at her. "You know, I don't think they've made this movie yet…"

Laura looked at the ceiling. "Oh God…"

"But we're coming up on "The Final Problem." Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Strand Magazine, 1893. Sherlock Holmes."

"Why am I not reassured?"

"Holmes finally confronts his arch nemesis, Professor Moriarty. They are an equal match; there can be no victory. During their final skirmish, they roll off a cliff in front of Watson's very eyes. Neither is seen again. Well, until the sequel…"

"Oh God…"

"You and Mildred must play the role of Dr. Watson. I, of course, will play myself."

"Both of yourselves."

"Correct."

"Oh God…"

"Do you have something more constructive to say than 'oh god?'"

"You're not going to be rolling off any cliffs permanently, are you?"

"Hopefully that option will remain a backup plan."

"Oh God…" This time she wailed and Steele turned his attention away from the dresser in order to comfort her. He sat next to her and pulled her closer, pressing his cheek against her hair.

"It's all right. Look. This is the A plan." He handed her what look suspiciously like a passport.

"What's this?"

"Look at it."

She opened it up and looked into the same smiling face she'd discovered seven years ago, the one she'd fallen in love with. The name had changed. No surprises there.

"T.R. Devlin? That's not a Humphrey Bogart character. That's Cary Grant—"

"Notorious. RKO Radio Pictures, Inc. 1946," they said in unison.

He smiled. "I know. I thought it was time for a change."

"You mean you ran out of Bogart characters."

"That too."

"This is your escape route."

"Old habits die hard. This particular one was a gift from an old friend."

"There are more?"

"One or two."

She furrowed her eyebrows. "Is there something I should know?"

He met her worried eyes and understood the concern. "Not escaping you, Laura. For emergencies. Like this."

She nodded, trying to be understanding. "So, you're leaving without me then."

"We're going to have to go to Mexico to pull this off—the last sighting of Richard Blain, etc. Then I'll lose myself in South America. You come back here, the grieving widow. Dismantle the practice, spend time with your sister, and then declare the whole place just reminds you of me too much. You'll simply have to the leave the city in order to recover, maybe even the country. Mildred can come, too. That's where Ireland comes in, where you'll meet the charming Mr. Devlin, who helps you cope with your loss."

"Uh huh."

"Uh huh? Laura, it's a brilliant plan full of daring and intrigue. Could I get a little enthusiasm?"

She bit her lower lip and looked up at him. "What if I couldn't get out of the country to follow you? What if whatever happened made my passport unusable?"

He closed his eyes, not sure which scared him more, the potential problem or her response to the solution. "There's a backup plan." He stood and went to the drawer again, grabbing a few more blue covered passports. "I've had these for a while. I'll just stand over here." He leaned against the wall, bracing himself for her fury.

She flipped the top one open. There she was in black and white glory. "Alicia Huberman—"

"Notorious. RKO Radio Pictures, Inc. 1946. Ingrid Bergman." They said it together, almost by rote.

She flipped open the next one. "Terry McKay—oh."

"An Affair to Remember. Twentieth Century Fox. 1957. Deborah Kerr. It's your favorite."

There were tears in her eyes. She couldn't believe he'd even thought of a thing like that. She couldn't believe he'd been planning to take her with him no matter what happen. She smiled at him lovingly; he looked back startled. He was expecting outrage and yelling—chastisement at the very least. Instead she was looking more than accepting.

"You're not upset."

"No."

"Why aren't you upset?"

"Because you're not leaving without me."

He looked confused. "When was that even an option?"

She sighed, looking down at her new passports. "Years ago, oceans away."

"Like the Laura who would have lost it over those passports."

She snorted. "No, she still disapproves. But there's disapproval and then there's disapproval. I disapprove of being left behind a lot more than illicit measures to bring me along."

He grinned. "Damn, I married well."

She smiled. "That you did. I assume there's a Nickie Ferrante in here somewhere?"

"Bottom of the pile."

She opened it and stroked the picture within. "We're going to be all right."

"We're going to be better than all right. We'll lose the agency, but we'll find something again. You're still licensed. We could start up again in Ireland. Holt-Steele Investigations, T.R. Devlin associate. It might be time for a change."

She snickered a little with something akin to anticipation. "Does Mildred have a passport, too?"

He nodded. "Frau Blucher. Young Frankenstein. Twentieth Century Fox. 1974."

She laughed. "Poor Mildred."

"I know. That's why I made her Sarah McKay, Terry's mother. Seemed more appropriate."

She felt her eyes dampen again. "It's perfect. Not that we'll use them."

"No. I hope you never have to. But if you do, you have them."

She sighed and smiled, feeling more optimistic than she had any right to be. "And in the meantime, I have you."

* * *

LAX was crowded and muggy the day of Remington Steele's last flight. He stretched, trying to work out the kinks the plastic seats were giving him as a parting gift. His stretch ended with one arm draped across Laura's shoulders. Smooth, that.

She looked at him and smiled briefly before returning to her magazine. He looked to Mildred, who was fanning herself with a travel brochure.

"I got to get something to drink, boss. This heat is killing me." She stood and rummaged around in her purse. "You know, I'm going to miss calling you that." She looked up at him and smiled fondly. "You'll always be the boss to me." Laura looked up over her magazine, eyebrows raised. "Well, except for the real boss, of course." Laura nodded, satisfied, and returned to her reading. "Can I get you kids something?"

He smiled and shook his head. "Thank you, Mildred, we're fine."

When she was gone, he kissed Laura's forehead pensively. "Will you miss the boss?"

"Hmmm?"

"Remington Steele?"

"Oh." She met his eyes, brow furrowed with thought. "You know, I'm not entirely sure he ever existed."

"Ouch."

"No—I mean, you do a wonderful Remington Steele—the only man for the role really—but, it's always you as Remington Steele. I'm not entirely sure who you are, either, but you're real. I created Remington Steele—he's the perfect man—but I fell in love with you."

His vision swam for a moment, his heart thudded in his ears. He swallowed carefully, focused on her lovely, loving face. "Thank you." He kissed her softly, but meaningfully.

"You married well, Mr. Devlin."

He grinned. "Damn well."

* * *

I really love this story. There may be more to come, but we'll see. I seem to have better luck with one shots. I hope you enjoyed it and if you did, please let me know by--Reviewing! Thank you :)


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